How Ryder Got Wet
by swaggedoutkidd
Summary: Ryder was a PCP addict by 22 and did anything to get his fix. Men couldn't keep their hands off him. The trade was obvious. Rated M for dub-con, non-con, child abuse, drug abuse, underage sex, spanking, slash, and violence. Pairings included: Ryder/OC, Ryder/LB, Ryder/Big Smoke, Ryder/Sweet, Ryder/ B-Dup.
1. Chapter 1: Student

**Disclaimer: I don't own GTA San Andreas or its characters. They belong to Rockstar Games. Don't sue me; I'm not making money.**

**Warnings: This story contains dub-con, non-con, drug use, spanking, underage sex, violence, graphic language, and child abuse. Don't read if you can't stomach it.**

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**1981**

"It's over! Pay up!" Lance "Ryder" Wilson yelled triumphantly and slapped his cards to the ground. "Spades on y'all punk asses!"

He reached in for the central pot, but Melvin "Big Smoke" Harris reached in and blocked Ryder with his fat, stubby hand. "Nah, man, we gotta play another round. I'm about to get my dough stacked!"

The end-of-period bell clanged on the wall over their heads. "Whatever, Smoke. I gotta go. Just gimme my damn money and let me get to that busta's class."

Big Smoke opened his mouth to object, but Sean "Sweet" Johnson interjected, "Smoke, give the little nigga back his money." Even though Sweet was five years younger than Big Smoke, it was unspoken knowledge that Sweet was the leader of their group.

"Fine. Maybe he can go buy himself a grown man's height!" Big Smoke laughed as he and Sweet walked off. Sweet, only 18, had dropped out of high school on his birthday, and Smoke had dropped out long before then.

Ryder's hands balled into fists and he lunged toward the chunky man waddling across the parking lot. "Fuck you, Smoke!" _'Why everybody gotta talk about my fuckin' height? I'm sick of this shit.'_

"Hey Ryder!" The scrawny fourteen-year-old spun around and spotted his best friend, and Sweet's younger brother, Carl waiting for him at the cafeteria doors. "Come on! We're gonna be late!"

Ryder gathered up the cards and his winnings, and trotted over to Carl. "What's it matter if we late? We gonna drop out anyway."

"Maybe, but we gotta stay in school for now. If we get in any more trouble, your moms and my Moms'll kill us!"

Ryder shook his head. Although Carl was his best friend, he knew very little about Ryder's life. _'My moms is a heroin addict, nigga. Only thing she ever whupped me for was when I hide her kit. Already did it twice this week and got the welts on my back to prove it.'_ Marguerite Wilson didn't care what she used to discipline her son. Ryder had been beaten with a hot iron, wire hangers, extension cords, and other flexible objects.

If it wasn't for his grandmother, a stout and tough woman in her late 60s, Ryder would go to school hungry everyday. Marguerite had sold most of their furniture and every electronic appliance in their home to acquire her soothing high. Desiree Wilson, Ryder's grandmother, worked night shifts at the docks and worked days at Cluckin' Bell in Willowfield. On nights when she didn't come with an eight piece for her only grandchild, Ryder went to bed shaking from intense hunger pains.

The two boys crossed the threshold of their classroom, just as the bell to fourth period rang. Mr. Suarez, the World History and Geography teacher, scowled at them as they entered. He was an imposing presence, 6'6" in height with a lean, muscular frame sculpted from the years of high school and college basketball he still bragged about. Many of the girls had crushes on him. Antonio Suarez had olive skin, way black hair, hazel green eyes, and full lips. "You boys are late. Detention after school for both of you."

Carl groaned. Ryder knew that the younger boy's moms would discipline him for getting another detention. Sweet would taunt his brother for getting detention for being late, not a more grievous offense. Brian and Kendl, Carl's younger siblings, would be disappointed by his latest infraction. _'At least people give a fuck about you. If Big Mama workin' tonight, ain't nobody gonna ask about me.'_

The next few hours passed with excruciating slowness.

Fifth period was chemistry. Ryder chose to nap his way through the period, rather than study the forty-year old textbook. _'This book talkin' 'bout atomic bombs are still a dream but I know they already existed.'_ He slept in classes even though the teen was intelligent enough to excel at every single one.

Sixth period was gym. Coach Lewis made the boys run around the track, do push-ups, and jumping jacks. Throughout the class, he lectured that they would one day be soldiers in the war against Communism and needed to be ready for the Red invasion. Ryder and the other boys gaped at the girls' game of volleyball as their breasts rose and fell with each play, until Coach Lewis threatened them with extra laps.

Seventh period was math. The other boys in gym class changed out their class in the locker room, but Ryder dragged himself to his math class and slept in the back of the room. When Mrs. Whit asked for his homework, Ryder roused himself and turned it in.

Dismissal bell rang after seventh period. Ryder dragged himself back to Mr. Suarez's classroom, but detoured at the end of the hall and left the school building. The area between the school kitchen and the industrial sized dumpsters was where the potheads smoked during lunch or between classes. There were rarely smokers found behind the school after the last bell. Ryder got lucky that afternoon, and shared in blunts they were passing.

After a few hits, Ryder went into building and headed for Mr. Suarez's class. It was at the other end of the hall from the dumpsters. _'If I was a ninja,'_ he thought, recalling the Bruce Lee movie he had watched the night before, _'I'd creep up in his classroom and take him down like a fuckin' ninja.' _ Ryder imitated the block and kick combo he'd seen.

A man's throat cleared behind Ryder, and someone brutally seized Ryder's shoulder in a vise-like grip. "Lance," Mr. Suarez said coldly, "would you care to explain why you're smoking marijuana on school grounds after hours?"

"I wasn't," Ryder lied.

"You were, and I can smell it on you."

"Because I got detention today with yo' punk ass." Ryder defiantly jutted out his chin. _'If I'm going down, I'm goin' down like a ninja.'_

The Latino's eyes narrowed and his grip on the Black teen's shoulder tightened. "Come with me." The bell to mark the beginning of detention rang through the halls.

Mr. Suarez led Ryder to his classroom and shoved him into a desk near the wide one at which the teacher sat. The Hispanic straightened his tie as he reclined in his seat. "You have been troublesome all year long, Lance. You're disrespectful. You're tardy. You have no understanding of obeying the rules. You curse. You flout the rules with an abhorrent level of arrogance."

Ryder had no idea what much of the teacher's vocabulary meant, but he knew the most appropriate response. He defiantly folded his arms over his chest and scowled. "So?"

"I've never had a student as…difficult as you. You've been hard to break. But I can and I will break you, Lance."

Carl jogged through the door at that moment. "Hey Mr. Suarez. I was just changing in the locker room, sorry if I'm late."

The bell to mark students late for detention rang. "Carl, you're not late, and you do not have to apologize. In fact, I've devised a more creative form of punishment for you." The younger teen glanced apprehensively at Ryder while the teacher reached into the bottom drawer of his desk. Mr. Suarez held out a sheet of paper to Carl, which the younger teen took. "I want you to write a five hundred word essay on each of the five topics on that paper. Return them to me on Monday when you come to my class."

Carl's mouth dropped open in shock. "C-Can't I just do an hour of detention?"

"No. Lance's assignment is an hour of detention. You are free to enjoy your weekend, provided you complete your essays. Have a safe and productive weekend." Carl turned on his heels and trudged down the hall. "You see, Lance? Carl is broken by the workload he'll have to do as punishment. And I will break you in a different way. Please stand up, hands at your sides, head straight ahead."

Ryder obeyed the teacher's orders, trying to behave nonchalantly while determined to undermine the Hispanic's opinion of him. Mr. Suarez loosened his purple silk tie and unfastened the cuffs on his lavender shirt sleeves. He walked to the classroom door and closed it. The teacher turned his gaze upon Ryder as he pulled down the shade over the window in the door.

"Lance, I hope this will be a smooth, uncomplicated process for you. You'll just have to be obedient and do everything I tell you." Ryder refused to answer and remained motionless except for the rising and falling of his chest when he breathed. Mr. Suarez sat on the desk directly in front of Ryder, the back of his knees touching the wood. "Now, come here and lay across my lap."

_'What the fuck?' _"What the fuck?"

"This can be an easy process or it can be hard. Now, do as I said."

"Man, you some kinda dick loving motherfucker! I'm out!" The Black teen stormed toward the door.

"Alright. We'll make it hard." Mr. Suarez grabbed Ryder by his left arm and twisted it behind his back. The skinny Black struggled to break free, but he was no match for the strong Hispanic's muscles. Mr. Suarez pulled the teen against his body with one hand holding Ryder's arm, the other draped over his neck in a chokehold. "Shut up," he hissed, "and don't move. Don't scream. Don't say anything. Or I will tear your arm from its socket. Is that understood?"

Ryder nodded. Sweat trickled from his brow and down the back of his oversized shirt. _'This punk done popped a membrane. He's gonna kill me!'_

"Good." The Latino dragged the Black to his desk. Releasing his chokehold, the teacher twisted and bent the teen's arm so far that Ryder had to bend over to relieve some of the pressure on his shoulder joint. The teacher opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs, which he locked around the teen's wrists. "Time for you to receive your punishment, Lance." Mr. Suarez flung Ryder across his lap.

The teen struggled to break free, but one of the Latino's muscular arms pinned him in place. He pulled down the Black's miniature basketball shorts and briefs in one tug. Ryder ignored his earlier agreement and began to cry out. "Help! Help!"

Mr. Suarez pressed down Ryder's head and cut off his air supply. "If you scream or yell again, I'll hurt you more. I'll cut off your air entirely so that you die. You are a ghetto rat, and no one—I mean, _no one_—will ever go looking for you. Do you want me to kill you?"

_'He's right. If I die right now, ain't nobody gonna come lookin' for my dead ass.' _"N-no."

"Then be quiet, unless I tell you otherwise." Mr. Suarez caressed Ryder's legs. "Mmm. You have nice legs, Lance. Have you considered running track?" The Black restrained his tears. He wasn't sure what his teacher was about to do to him, but it didn't feel right. Mr. Suarez slapped the back of his head. "Answer my question, Lance!"

"N-no."

"No what?"

"N-no, sir."

"Good boy." He moved his callused, hairy hand up Ryder's leg and toward the chocolate colored skin of the teen's round, smooth bottom. "I always wanted an obedient Black boy. You Black boys have such beautiful bodies, great butts, and dongs like horses." The teacher grabbed Ryder's soft shaft. "Just like you, Lance."

Then Mr. Suarez began to spank him.

Ryder cried during the spanking. He knew the difference between the disciplining blows of his Big Mama and the strange, lascivious smacks Mr. Suarez delivered. Something firm poked into Ryder's flat stomach. _'Oh shit, is that his dick gettin' hard under me?'_

"Lance, Lance, Lance," Mr. Suarez said, concluding the spanking with a squeeze of Ryder's butt cheeks. "Mmm. You have no idea how good this butt looks. I could do so many things to it…give you so much pleasure…." The teacher's right hand left his bottom, and Ryder heard a desk drawer open. After a few tense seconds, the teacher's middle finger began to probe at the Black's tight sphincter.

Ryder shrieked like a girl and kicked violently. Mr. Suarez grabbed Ryder's throat in his left hand until the Black teen could hardly breathe much less scream. "You will be quiet. You wanted this. You wanted me."

With that, he shoved the length of his finger into the teen's virgin hole and began to thrust it wantonly. Ryder could only close his eyes and imagine he wasn't crying, he was somewhere else, where it didn't feel oddly satisfying to have a man's finger stroking an undefiled part of his body. He wasn't in the classroom with his teacher jerking his shaft, until it was hard. Ryder wasn't begging. Ryder wasn't pleading. "Please stop. Please stop."

"Cum for me, Ryder. Cum for me my beautiful black slut."

With a soft whimper, Ryder ejaculated onto Mr. Suarez's pant leg. It was his first time that someone else had made him orgasm.

The teacher shoved the Black teen onto his knees and hastily unfastened his own pants. _'Fuck no. Fuck no.'_ He grabbed the back of Ryder's unyielding head and shoved it toward the Latino's 10" long, curved slab of meat. "Gonna cum on that pretty Black face of yours." With a few quick pumps, the teacher ejaculated on Ryder's lips, nose and eyes.

"Whew," Mr. Suarez sighed, "that was-" Ryder jumped up and punched the teacher in his face. Mr. Suarez fell from his chair. Without a glance backwards, the Black teen ran from the classroom, pulling up his shorts and underwear.


	2. Chapter 2: Dealer

**Author's Note: This chapter includes graphic language, racial epithets, drug references, preslash, and child abuse. You've been warned. **

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**Chapter 2: 1983**

On a chilly, damp night the week before Ryder's sixteenth birthday, the scrawny Black teen lounged against a lamppost next to the Ganton Gym, blowing on his gloved hands to keep them warm in the threadbare cotton.

He had experienced more drama in the last sixteen months than his peers had experience in their sixteen years. Ryder's face had developed a cold, cynical hardness in response to the life-altering changes. After Mr. Suarez had molested Ryder, the teacher had reported Ryder to the principal for punching him. He had to, as the teen's right hook had blackened his eye and fractured the eye socket. Ryder was expelled from school, ending his grandmother's dreams that he would be the first in the family to earn a high school diploma.

A dark brown Hermes glided smoothly down the street. With its aerodynamic shape, sparkling black-and-white tires, and tinted windows, it was the kind of stylish car driven by cool people in the 1950s, back before Ganton had declined into gang territory and flourishing drug use. Ryder retreated from the embrace of the street light and pulled out a pack of cheap cigarettes, in case undercover police drove the approaching car. It eased to a stop in front of the teen and a light-skinned, bald Latino leaned out the passenger's window. "Ay carbon, you know where the party is?"

_'I gotta make this paper tonight. It's been hard the last two weeks, and I ain't got Big Mama to take care of me no more.'_ Shortly after he was expelled from school, Desiree Wilson was hospitalized with shortness of breath, exhaustion, and lack of appetite. Doctors diagnosed her with pneumonia. Sweet and the Grove Street Families had scraped together the money for her hospital bills, but since Desiree had lost job during her ten-day hospital stay, the medications she needed were too expensive. The hospital had released Ryder's Big Mama into the care of her only daughter, Marguerite.

Four days later, she passed away while sprawled on the living sofa from exhaustion. _'She'd still be alive if I started slangin' sooner.'_

With his grandmother on his mind, Ryder lit the cigarette and replied to the Latin gangsta. "Depends on which party you talkin' about?"

"I'm talkin' about a green party, homes. Gotta really fill up the atmosphere."

"Pure green, or all kinds of green?"

"I'm lookin' for that pure green party."

Ryder reached into his front left pocket and extracted a dime bag of weed. He toyed with it in his slender fingers. The Black teen was skilled at spotting customers who were trying to manipulate his youth and seeming lack of experience. "That information's gonna cost you."

The Latino slipped three folded ten dollar bills into Ryder's hand. "I wanna get that long-lasting party experience, comprendo?"

Ryder added two more baggies of green to the one he handed to the Latino gangsta. "Have a good time at your party, chulo." The Latino tossed Ryder a two finger salute goodbye and pulled off.

His stomach growled angrily. _'Chill out. I'ma get somethin' from that new pizza place up the street when I finally get off the block.'_ Without his grandmother around, Ryder was still gradually adjusting to scrounging from restaurant trash cans for his meals and sleeping when and where he could. Marguerite collected Desiree's Social Security, but that money went exclusively to support her habit. Whenever she ran low, like earlier that night, Marguerite's dealer negotiated in her bedroom, and Ryder stormed next door to Sweet and Carl's house to avoid the grunts and creaking bedsprings.

_'Don't care how hungry I get, I ain't never gonna stoop so low I fuck some kid's mama while the kid's in the house. That's just disrespectful. Carl and Sweet don't know how good they have it, a mama who cares about them more than she cares about herself.' _

Ryder paced the street corner anxiously as an hour passed without a car stopping. The temperature seemed to be dropping, and the teen shivered in the cooling night air. _'Should've brought that jacket Ms. Beverly tried to give me.'_ He was considering ending the night when he spotted the black-and-white police approaching from the Cluckin' Bell around the corner.

He quickly pulled out and ignited another cigarette before the car slowed to a stop in front of him. A husky blond cop leaned out the passenger's side window. "What you doing out here by yourself, son?"

Ryder raised the cigarette to his lips. "Smokin' a cigarette, what's it look like to you?" He inhaled deeply and almost immediately doubled over, coughing and convulsing. It was his first time ever smoking a cigarette.

The officer chuckled. "You alright, son?"

Mucus trailed from Ryder's nose. His eyes were itchy and watery, and his throat felt painfully raw, as though someone had scraped it dry. "Yeah, it's just my first time smoking," he coughed, "I mean, my first time smoking this brand."

The officers exchanged a look, and the driver turned off the engine of the squad car. Ryder cautiously studied the two men as they exited the vehicle. LSPD had developed a reputation for beating Black men Ryder's age without just cause, and the teen wanted to memorize details about the two men in case he had to testify. The driver of the squad car was a slim, dark-haired man with sallow skin and deep circles were carved under his grey eyes. The blond officer was taller and possessed the body of an aggressive former athlete. He cracked his knuckled and grinned in a way that made the Black teen back away. "First time on a new brand, huh? What brand do you usually smoke?" he growled.

"Uh…Carolina Slenders," Ryder barely recalled the name of his grandmother's preferred brand.

The two officers chuckled. "Someone should've told you that's a woman's cigarette."

Ryder glanced from one cop to the other and dashed into the road. Before he rounded the car, the blond cop wrapped his beefy arms around Ryder's slender body and slammed him onto the sidewalk. "Ow! Get the fuck off me! Let me go!" the teen kicked and yelled. "Let me go!"

"Shut the fuck up, boy! We're gonna have a talk with you," the dark-haired officer snapped.

_'Shit I gotta get rid of this weed before they take me downtown!'_ Ryder squirmed and reached his hand into the left front pocket of his imitation denim Binco jeans to toss out the baggies it contained.

"Hey, Pendlebury, what's he doing with his hand?"

A man's firm hands seized his slim, meatless arm. "Get your hands out your pocket, boy!" Ryder hesitated and the grip tightened. He heard the click of a gun's hammer. "I said, get your fucking hands out your pockets, boy!"

With the weight of the husky officer on top of him, Ryder couldn't bend his arm or flex his fingers to release the weed in his hand. Ryder wiggled his underfed body in an effort to free his trapped hand and his narrow hips rubbed against the officer's thick, muscular leg. Ryder recoiled in disgust. _'Now this motherfucker goin' think I'm a sissy. Might as well give these motherfuckers what they want.'_ He pulled his hand free of the pocket and slapped it on the concrete.

"Well, well, look at what we got here." The dark-haired policeman stooped down and examined the handful of weed Ryder had left. "This nigger's got a little Mexican garden growing in his pants! You see this, Officer Pendlebury?"

"Yeah, Broflovski, he must be selling. It explains why he's working a corner this late." The blond cop sneered down at him.

"I thought he was out here selling his sweet ass at first," Broflovski laughed.

"Fuck both of you, pigs! I wasn't sellin'! Somebody gave me that shit to hold onto. It ain't mine!"

"Yeah, how about you find a new line, boy?" Pendlebury flipped Ryder over, held him in place with a knee in the teen's lower back, and clapped a pair of steel handcuffs onto Ryder's slim black wrists.

"We hear that shit story all the time, nigger. Lockup downtown is full of stupid kids like you: Lots of lies but no imagination." Pendlebury lifted Ryder to his feet, and Broflovski stared into his face. The top of his head didn't even reach either cop's chest. "You're gonna be fresh meat in there tonight, kid. How old are you?"

"Fifteen, motherfucker."

Broflovski raked his eyes up and down the teenager's lean body obscured by baggy camouflage pants and an oversized green shirt. "Oh, they are going to _love _you in lockup, boy. You're just old enough to get put in there with the grown men. You ain't got shit for muscle, so you can't be much of a fighter. With those juicy lips and that nice, slim body you tryin' to hide, the guys in lockup are gonna play with you like a little blowup doll."

Pendlebury dragged Ryder to the back door of the squad car. "Officer Broflovski, are you implying that this boy might get anally raped in lockup?"

"Yes I am, Pendlebury."

Ryder threw his shoulder backwards, hoping to catch the blond cop in his chest and stun him. Pendlebury easily avoided the blow and slapped Ryder across the side of his face. The teen slammed against the car. "Whoa! Did you see that Broflovski? The little nigger tried hit me!" For good measure, the blond cop slammed Ryder's head into the fiberglass frame of the squad car.

"Assaulting a police officer?" Broflovski tsked sarcastically. He gathered up the baggies of weed into a clear plastic evidence bag. Ryder barely heard the pale officer, as his head was still ringing from Pendlebury's blunt force trauma to his head. He had to blink several times to bring the older officer back into focus. "That's gonna upgrade you from juvie to adult prison, boy."

"I hear those big bucks in there are just hungry for some fresh faced little pussy like this one." Pendlebury shoved Ryder into the backseat of the squad car. The Black teen awkwardly stretched across the backseat.

"Yeah, they'll fuck his sweet little tight ass til he can't even walk," Broflovski added. The two cops climbed into the squad car and pulled away from the corner by Ganton Gym. "Give him six months, he'll be a full-blown cocksucker, craving it all the time like a crack whore!"

The two cops laughed maliciously while Ryder struggled to sit up. _'No way, I can't go out like that.'_ The memory of Mr. Suarez's hairy brown body, his engorged brown shaft pressed to Ryder's lips, and the copious jizz covering his face still haunted Ryder. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in almost two years, and to add injustice to injury, Mr. Suarez still taught at the high school while Ryder was expelled and selling weed to stay alive. "Ay man, don't take me to jail."

"What did you say, boy?" The two cops stopped laughing.

Ryder swallowed his pride. It left a bitter aftertaste. "I said, don't take me to jail. Please. I don't wanna go."

Pendlebury turned and eyed Ryder. "I don't know, Broflovski. Maybe we should let this kid slide. He looks mighty scrawny. What do you think?"

Hope began to sprout in Ryder's chest. Officer Broflovski glanced back in the mirror at the Black teen. "I kinda feel sorry for the nigger too. But how do we know he ain't gonna snitch on us for lettin' him slide? Or go back to the same street corner and just sell more weed?"

"Please, man, please," Ryder begged desperately, "I don't wanna go to lockup. I'm just a kid man." Tears formed in his eyes and threatened to trail down his dark cheeks if he didn't blink.

Officer Broflovski steered the car into the parking lot of the 24 Hour Motel just on the other side of the train tracks from the Ganton Gym. He parked and turned off the engine. Ryder surveyed his surroundings. On one side of the parking lot, a long, high brick wall separated the train tracks from the motel, and on the other three sides, the motel guarded the parking lot from the street. The light in the motel's front office was lit, but there was no sign of anyone inside the office. _'Oh shit, these two motherfuckers are gonna kill me!'_

"The question is, what are you willing to do to stay out of prison, kid?"

"Man, I'll do anything! Just…don't kill me. And don't take me to jail!" Ryder clung to what remained of his self-esteem by stubbornly refusing to cry.

"Anything is a pretty tall order, kid," Pendlebury chuckled. _'Somethin' ain't right about the way these two crackers is lookin' at me. Like I'm a piece of Black meat or somethin'.'_

"Look, I'll do anythin', alright? I already said that!"

"Alright, boy, we won't take you to jail. But if you tell even one person about the little deal we're gonna work out with you, we got evidence to throw you in prison until you've got arthritis from all the dick you'll be sucking." Pendlebury laughed.

"I won't tell, I promise."

"Good," Broflovski responded. "Pendlebury, go rent us a motel room. We're gonna see if you really will do anything to stay out of jail, boy." The blond officer exited the car laughing viciously.

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**Author's Note: More graphic scenes to come in the next chapter. Review and follow.**


	3. Chapter 3: Outcast

**WARNING: This chapter contains racial slurs, violence, and graphic descriptions of non-con underage sex. I am building on a plot here; therefore, the story isn't smutty for the sake of being smutty. However, if you can't stomach it, don't read it.**

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**1983: Outcast**

Two days later, Ryder awoke to the sound of wood slamming against wood. The underfed teen usually slept into the wee hours of the afternoon, but the noise was within his bedroom, only a few inches from his head. _'Shit, someone's in my fuckin' room!'_

When he opened his eyes, he spotted a figure searching through his cheap, ancient dresser while mumbling to himself in a low growl of a voice. The man wore a dingy, faded blue housecoat. _'Shit who's this motherfucker? One of moms' dopefiend buddies?'_ He coughed painfully and continued, undeterred, to search through the drawers. Fortunately for Ryder, his back was turned to the frightened teen.

As motionlessly as he could, Ryder let his slender brown fingers slide beneath his stiff cotton pillow and wrapped them around the cold curve of a 9 mm pistol B-Dup had given him. The scrawny teen pulled out the gun and aimed it at the figure in one fluid motion. "Get your motherfuckin' hands up!"

Marguerite Wilson yelped and spun to face her son with her hands raised compliantly. Ryder lowered the gun. Once upon a time, Ryder's mom had been a fresh-faced beauty with a radiant smile, at a height the same as her only son, and glowing, healthy skin, hair, and eyes. Ryder had seen that woman in Marguerite's cheerleading pictures proudly displayed in his late grandma's house and in the yearbooks gathering dust and cockroaches in stacks of rotting boxes in their garage.

Then she gave birth to Ryder at only fifteen years old. Neither Marguerite nor Desiree ever spoke about his father or explained why Marguerite never again dated. In the years following his birth, his mother's addiction to heroin had hollowed her once lovely brown eyes, sank her high cheekbones, and made sallow and waxy her lustrous complexion. Her smile had lost a few teeth and its natural gleam, and her hair was brittle and permanently dry. When she finally recognized her son in his bed holding the gun, she only had one question for him.

"How much did that gun cost you?"

"Don't worry about that, moms." Ryder rolled out of bed and winced slightly when his sock clad feet struck the bare wood floor. The impact sent pain up his entire naked torso from a particularly sensitive spot between his legs. _'Shit, it's been two days and I gotta take care of business, even if I ain't fully recovered yet. B-Dup ain't gonna give a shit how messed up I am._' The scrawny teen tucked the gun into the waist of his sweatpants. "Why you in my room?"

"I been lookin' for somethin' I lost." She licked her crusty lips with a dry tongue, and rubbed a track-covered bony arm. "That's a nice-lookin' gun. How much did it cost?"

"Moms, it's _mine_, and I ain't gonna let you have it."

_'Realization dawned on Ryder's young face. "Oh fuck nah, I'm outta this bitch!" He turned his body so his cuffed hands could grasp the door handle of the squad car and began to wrestle with opening the door before the burly blond returned. Officer Broflovski laughed darkly._

_'"You aren't going nowhere, nigger. Me and Officer Pendlebury are gonna fuck you tonight. Or do you prefer those big breeding bucks in jail?" _

_'Ryder ignored him and continued to wrestle with the door handle. It opened suddenly, and the teen tumbled out backwards into the pair of beefy, waiting arms that belonged to Office Pendlebury. Before he could scream, the blond clapped a hand over his mouth, and restrained his squirming body with the other arm. _

_'"Car sixty-four to Precinct One, we have a report of suspicious, possibly criminal activity at the 24 Hour Motel in Willowfield, over," Broflovski radioed in._

_'"Provide suspect's description, car sixty-four, over."_

_'"Suspect is a Black male, teen, approximately five-four, weighing one hundred twenty-five pounds. On our way to check it out."_

_'"Precinct One to car sixty-four, I'll spread that description around, see if other officers can get on the case. Let me know what you find, over."'_

Most mothers would have noticed their sons' agony-filled movements, the grimace of discomfort on their faces, or the painful gasps they made with every other step. Marguerite wasn't one of those mothers. "That gun looks like it's worth a lot of money." She licked her lips even as Ryder limped toward the bathroom, eyeing the steel gleaming from his waist. "You know, we ain't had groceries in the house in a minute. Could use some food."

_'Bullshit, you gonna sell this gun to your dealer or whoever can hook you up for the week with just enough cash for a fix. Then that motherfuckin' refrigerator still gonna be empty, and the next time I'm on the corner, workin', I still won't be able to protect myself.'_ He slipped into the bathroom, locked the door, and went to urinate in the grimy, green mildew-stained porcelain toilet.

Marguerite's rapping on the door disrupted him. "What is it, Mama?"

"I really am kinda hungry, Lance. That gun could feed us for a couple of weeks, if you let me pawn it," she groaned through the door.

_'Officer Pendlebury carried Ryder's struggling, slim body up the motel's rusty metal stairs to a room on the second floor. His grip was too tight even for the teen's persistent struggling. Broflovski unlocked the door, and before Ryder could fully take in the dimly lit room with its dingy carpet, leaking air conditioner, and peeling wood paneling, Pendlebury had tossed him onto the king-sized bed. _

_'"You oughta feel grateful, nigger. I hear little monkeys like you do it in the train yards between the rail cars and storage units, like dogs in heat. At least we gave you a bed," Broflovski sneered. _

_'Ryder tried to scramble to his feet. With one meaty hand, Pendlebury shoved him back onto the bed, knocking the wind from the teen's bird-like chest. The blond cop climbed onto the mattress and straddled the Black teen's body. Fear consumed him and he fought ten times harder, desperately thrashing under the cop's grip. The blond laughed sinisterly and pinned Ryder's emaciated arms over his head with his left hand, while he unzipped his fly with the right._

_'"Come on, nigger, open that pretty mouth and suck this cock.'_

He tried to ignore her, but heroin had buried its roots deeply into Marguerite's mind. She rapped on the door again and again. "Lance…Lance? Come on now, boy, let me get some goodies with that gun. I'll get you some Interracial Sandwich Cookies and some Toaster Sugar Bombs, I know how much you like them."

_'Bitch, you don't know shit. I ain't no little kid no more. Not after I done seen the shit I done seen and did the shit I done did,'_ Ryder thought, sitting on the filthy toilet to void his bowels.

_'The tangy, sausage-like taste of Pendlebury's engorged shaft repulsed Ryder. It was curved slightly upward, and as it moved deeper into the Black's mouth, it hit the back of his throat and flirted with his gag reflex. The thick, sweaty, salty smell of it filled his nostrils. He clenched his eyes to keep the sight of Pendlebury's thatch of blond pubic hairs from invading his brain, planting in his memory, and drawing out the tears that welled beneath his eyelids._

_'He couldn't escape. Pendlebury's bulk trapped his body and his brawny hand immobilized his arms. Ryder thrashed his legs in a futile effort to throw off the muscular cop. He pushed his tongue against the soft pink tip of Pendlebury's manhood to reject it from his mouth. It didn't free him, but it made Pendlebury seize his nappy afro in a punishing grip and yank his head until the teen stared submissively at him._

_'"If you don't want this beautiful cock, nigger, Broflovski and I can introduce you to some bigger ones in prison. And they won't play so nice. Is that what you want?"_

_'A camera flashed while Ryder contemplated his predicament. He shifted his gaze in the direction of the flash, and spotted Officer Broflovski with an instant-developing Polack in his hand. The dark-haired officer had his uniform shirt unbuttoned, and smiled at Ryder while shaking the picture. "Go ahead and answer the man, nigger. Do you want those big prison cocks down at lockup to split you open instead?"_

_'The thought of being raped by dozens, if not hundreds of men frightened Ryder. He closed his eyes and shook his head no. Pendlebury moaned from the friction of Ryder's moist, silky lips on the curve of his shaft. "Ohh, do that again," the blond cop demanded.'_

Marguerite continued to knock until Ryder flushed the toilet and opened the door. The stench of his own feces offended the teen, but his mother was unfazed. "If you give me that gun, Lance, I'll go to the store for us, I promise. I know you've been hungry."

Ryder shook his head. _'I ain't ate shit in two days, I been drinkin' Sprunk and Kola to keep goin', but at least I ain't bleedin' from my ass now. You ain't noticed shit this whole time 'cause you feenin'.'_ "I'm about to leave, Mama." He stepped respectfully around her frail body.

"But you ain't hungry, Lance?"

"Nah, Mama, I got things to do. I ain't got time to eat right now." Ryder went to his room and rifled through the overflow of unwashed shirts, pants, and underwear in his laundry basket. He paused before reaching the bottom of the basket and pulled out the least offensive, slightly clean pair of jeans, green hoody, and white socks. The thought of seeing the bottom of the basket made him tremble with suppressed fear.

_'Ryder cringed but obliged, massaging the fleshy head of Broflovski's thick, angry shaft with his supple young mouth. "Now suck it," Pendlebury ordered. The dark-haired officer on the other side of the room snapped another picture as the blond shoved his length into the Black's mouth._

_'Pendlebury brutally assaulted the teen's soft wet heat, mercilessly grinding his hips against Ryder's lips. The Black teen forced himself not to gag, not to cry, and not to fight. Resistance was futile anyway. _

_'As Pendlebury whined praises of Ryder's oral skills, the teen felt and heard the unfastening of his belt buckle. A pair of hands pulled at his jeans and boxers. Ryder opened his eyes and tried to kick Broflovski or push the blond cop's weight off him. "Don't worry," Broflovski promised, "this won't hurt too much if you stay still." Pendlebury rested the entirety of his body on Ryder's chest. With the teen pinned firmly in place, the older officer snatched off the boy's pants, boxers, shoes, and socks. "Now it's time for the main event."'_

He dressed hurriedly while Marguerite lingered in the door, rubbing the deep tracks of her slim arms. _'I'ma have to wash my clothes again tomorrow at the Laundromat down the street. Man, CJ and Sweet don't know how good they got it, a moms who actually washes they stank clothes.'_

"You about to leave right now?" Marguerite asked nervously.

"Yeah," Ryder tied up his sneakers and dashed past his mom to the front door, "but I'll be back later tonight, Mama. Don't worry." He concealed the 9 mm pistol in the waist of his sagging jeans and strolled out the door.

"Hey, Ryder!" Kendl's small girlish voice called from the Johnson house next door.

Ryder glanced in her direction. Kendl, still a prepubescent ten-year-old girl even if she had the attitude of a twenty-year-old, sat on the edge of the porch in a light pink dress and pigtailed plaits. CJ, still a naïve fourteen-year-old, sat two steps lower than his sister in an oversized Homies T-shirt and blue jeans shorts. Kendl's nimble young fingers were working CJ's afro, modeled after Ryder's, into braids. Ryder walked up to them, gave CJ their secret handshake. "What's up CJ?"

"Gettin' my hair braided. Moms said I can't rock a full afro in the summertime like you. You're lucky."

_'You don't know shit about being lucky, spoiled bitch ass.'_ "Yeah, I guess." Ryder greeted Kendl with a nod. "What's up, little Kendl?"

Kendl sucked her teeth and brandished her comb at Ryder like it was a knife. "Look here, Pigeon Chest, I'm gonna be eleven in July, and I'm already more grown up than you are!"

"Did I hear somebody's dog barking? Nah, you just got some stankin' dog breath. OOOWEE!" Ryder pretended to choke and fanned the air to clear it.

"How do you know what dog breath smells like? You kissed one lately?" CJ laughed at his sister's comeback.

That vote of confidence irked Ryder. "Oh nah, but if I wanted to, I know you're right next door."

Carl doubled over laughing. Kendl popped him on the shoulder with her comb. "I wouldn't kiss you, even if I was a dog. Your breath smells like you been suckin' dick."

_'Broflovski snapped another picture of Ryder's half-naked body writhing beneath Pendlebury's powerful mass, then nudged the blond cop. "Get up, I want you to record this for evidence." The second Pendlebury pulled his shaft from Ryder's mouth and eased his body off the teen's chest, Ryder tried desperately to get up. Broflovski seized him by both his ankles and flipped him over. "You won't be going anywhere. Quit fighting it already."_

_'"No, please man, don't, please!" The tough exterior he worked so hard to maintain, his dignity, his pride, none of it meant anything with his face planted in the comforter reeking of sweat, sex, and alcohol. He heard the dark haired cop's pants drop to the floor, felt the lean older man when he climbed atop Ryder's back with only a thin cotton t-shirt between their bodies, and heard the thick spit Broflovski hocked into his own hand. Until Broflovski's slickened fingers trailed between Ryder's crack, the teen didn't stop fighting for an escape. Pendlebury snapped a picture of the moment when the warm, wet trail between his supple booty cheeks finally killed the last bit of resistance in Ryder's small body. He began to cry into the comforter and steeled himself for the taking of his virginity.'_

Rage built and overflowed in Ryder's head. Kendl's laughing face was just another one mocking his mother's heroin addiction, mocking his future as a drug dealer, mocking _him_, just as the cops had mocked him. He drew back his left hand and smacked Kendl across her laughing, delicate face, but the blow was not enough for Ryder to regain his stolen power, his defiled body, or his cheated conscience. So he backhanded her as well. "Shut the fuck up!"

The girl clutched her face where Ryder's knuckles left impact marks. After a moment's hesitation, CJ jumped to his feet and shoved the older teen in his bony chest. "That's my fuckin' sister you just hit! Leave her alone!"

"Mama!" Kendl sobbed and darted into the house. Ryder glared resentfully at the girl seeking a place of refuge and shoved CJ back. "She started it!"

CJ punched Ryder's jaw. It was the older teen's first time being punched, and CJ had enough power behind it to cause Ryder to fall to the ground, dazed. They had scrapped playfully but never seriously over the years, but there was a definite difference in the way CJ loomed over Ryder. "Well I'm gonna finish it!"

_'Ryder whimpered and tried to crawl from the ripping, burning sensation of forced entry between his legs. Broflovski was too strong, too heavy for him. The teen clenched his eyes shut, mumbled curses and pleas, but the cop ignored it all. Broflovski's sturdy member plunged deeper into his slim, underfed body, and he rested his torso on Ryder's back so that his stubble-filled face rubbed against the teen's flawlessly smooth one. "You like it, don't you nigger? You like this big Polish sausage up your pooper, huh kid?"_

_'"Please man, please stop."_

_'The camera in Pendlebury's hand flashed. "No way, kid, you got such a good ass. So tight and wet and hot, it's better than my wife's old pussy." Broflovski seized Ryder's afro in one hand, pulled the teen onto his hands and knees, and began to thrust faster. Each movement of the cop's hips caused the Black to wince in pain, as more tissue inside him tore. _

_'"Yeah, Pendlebury, get some good angles on this 'crime scene!' See how this nigger likes my king-sized cock." Broflovski smacked his free hand on Ryder's smooth brown booty. "Don't you like it?"_

_'Broflovski spanked him again, but Ryder clenched his mouth shut. Part of him reasoned that if he conceded and gave the officers the full pleasure they sought in breaking him, he wouldn't have such an excruciating rape ordeal. The other part of him recognized the necessity in holding onto one shred of dignity, one piece of himself that would not be defiled by the older man's violation of his body.'_

Once Ryder was on the ground, CJ's blows became merciless and unstoppable. The scrawny older teen curled into the fetal position in a pointless effort to shield his body. He had learned the usefulness of not presenting a defense of any sort. CJ rained kicks on Ryder's legs and back and pounded him into a state of terrified submission. The warm asphalt of Grove Street pressed gravel marks against Ryder's face as an indeterminable time elapsed, which he marked only by the number of punches CJ delivered.

"Carl, stop it! Get off him, CJ, leave him alone!" Kendl shrieked. Her voice was nearby, so Ryder guessed she was trying to pull off her older brother.

"No!" CJ grunted and began punching Ryder's sensitive left ear. "He slapped you, and nobody got the right to slap my sister around like some ho!"

"Stop it, he didn't hurt….Moms! Carl's beating up Lance! Help!"

Before CJ landed another punch, someone pulled him off Ryder's pain-wracked body. "Carl Lamar Johnson, Junior, I raised you to be better than beating someone who is already down!"

Ryder unshielded his face and gazed hopefully into the warm brown face of Beverly Johnson. With a proud miniature afro, large brown eyes, and a dialect that reminded Ryder of his Haitian-born mother, Ryder entrusted his shuddering hand to the gentle one she extended. "You ok, baby?"

_'Broflovski grunted victoriously in Ryder's ear and licked the shell with the tip of his tongue. The teen shrank in disgust, but the officer's abuse of his ear was nothing compared to the sudden emptying of his hot, gooey seed into Ryder's rectum. Even with his eyes closed in a desperate desire to permanently clear his mind of the memory, Ryder felt the man juice deep inside him. _

_'"Damn, this nigger boy got some nice, sweet ass," Broflovski groaned. "You ready for your turn, Pendlebury?"_

_'Ryder laid perfectly still and hoped the blond cop would decline. His backside stung from the way Broflovski had ripped it open, and his pride was broken already. The teen didn't need to be violated again so quickly. It would damage him beyond repair. _

_'"Nah, Broflovski, I want that pretty little mouth to drink me dry." The dark-haired cop pulled his softening manhood from Ryder's rear. The Black teen almost screamed from the emptying sensation and from the slow leak of fluids from his abused orifice. It seemed to ignite every nerve in his frail body. Before he could contemplate an escape, the husky blond cop forced Ryder onto his back and yanked Ryder onto his knees. His backside bumped against his bare ankles and radiated an indescribable wave of pain through his tender body. That pain distracted him from Pendlebury forcing his member into Ryder's gaping mouth. _

_'If he resisted, it was only going to be worse.'_

"Lance, why are you out here beating on my children?"

Beverly stared at him with all the fierceness that a protective Black mother of four could muster in the ghetto of Los Santos. At 5'7" the stout woman barely had a height advantage over the teen but she, like most protective mothers, could exaggerate her height. Beverly Johnson was a formidable specimen of womanhood known through the Ganton neighborhood, and was known for staring down anyone younger than her until they deferred with the respect due to her age and wisdom. Ryder just happened to be her latest target.

"I ain't beat on nobody, Mrs. J! Kendl's lying!"

FWAP! Beverly slapped Ryder in the back of his head and returned both hands to her hips. "My daughter ain't a nobody, Lance. You hit her, so you hit somebody. So tell me why you felt it was right to hit her?"

Ryder flinched from the furious woman's presence. Accustomed to Beverly's kind admonishments and gentle, loving treatment, he did not know how to react to the woman who treated him like a threat. "I-I…."

"Boy, you know you can talk, so stop bullshitting me. I ain't got the time or patience for it."

"I didn't mean to."

"That's tough. Lance, apologize to Kendl right now." Ryder obeyed and even did it without a note of resentment.

"Kendl, you apologize for saying whatever nasty bullshit you said." Kendl sucked her teeth and folded her arms. "Girl, don't you ever let me hear you do that again, or I'll knock every last tooth out your head! Then you won't have teeth _to_ suck. Now apologize to Lance!" Kendl obeyed reluctantly, so Beverly compelled her to do it twice.

"Now get in the house. You about to find out you ain't too old for a whuppin' yet."

"Mama!" Kendl pled.

"Shut up, girl, and go inside before I beat you until you got your own kids." Kendl stormed into the Johnson's house. Beverly watched her retreat then turned to Ryder. "Lance?"

"Yes, Mrs. J?"

"Don't come near my house or my children ever again." A flicker of remorse softened Beverly's countenance for a moment, but she hardened her resolve almost immediately. "I know how things are at your house, but I will not risk you becoming a negative influence on my kids. When their father, God bless his soul, started running the streets, I kicked him out. When Sweet joined the same gang their father started, I kicked him out too.

"Y'all might hang out in the streets, and I'll see about bringing you some food or clothes from time to time. But you aren't welcome in my house any longer. I'm sorry." With those words, Beverly turned on her heels, climbed the porch, and closed the front door behind her.

_'Ryder could barely move his agonized body, but he forced himself to put on his jeans, shoes, socks, boxers, and shirt again. The two cops chuckled and leered over the instantly developed pictures they had captured from violating the teen while he dressed. He yearned to air out both of them with their own guns. Nothing else in his night had gone according to plan, so the assassination attempt wasn't likely to either._

_'"You dressed yet, nigger?" Broflovski demanded. He scanned the teen's body, hauled him to a standing position, and slapped handcuffs back on Ryder's slim wrists. "Alright, let's get you back to that landfill you niggers call a neighborhood."_

_'They hauled him to the squad car and drove across the train tracks. Although the darkest edge of blue had begun to peer over Los Santos, Ganton was still embraced by slumber for the most part. The only life on the street was a wino urinating behind Ganton Gym. _

_'"Where do you live, boy?" Pendlebury demanded. _

_'"Why?" It was the first time Ryder had spoken in hours, so his voice emerged as a dry croak. He cleared it and repeated the question, this time more sullenly. "Why you motherfuckers wanna know where I live?"_

_'"Because we're LSPD, here to serve and protect," Broflovski laughed._

_'"Yeah, we already served you our cocks, now we're trying to protect you from having to walk home," Pendlebury added. _

_'Ryder didn't trust the officers, but he had no other choice. They seemed reluctant to drop him at the alleyway behind the gym. So he gave them his moms' address on Grove Street. The patrol car pulled into the weed-covered driveway three minutes later, headlights and radio extinguished. Broflovski parked the car, and Pendlebury exited the car to remove Ryder's handcuffs. _

_'"Just so you know, boy, don't get too comfortable in this shithole you call a house anymore." The dark-haired cop glanced back at Ryder in the mirror. "We might need to request your 'services' from time to time."_

_'"What the fuck? I ain't fuckin' with you pigs no more. If you don't leave me alone, I'll…"_

_'"You'll do what, nigger?" Pendlebury demanded. He lifted Ryder from the car and slammed the teen's tender back against the trunk. The blond cop hovered his face so close to the Black teen's, Ryder could feel his hot breath with each word Pendlebury spoke. _

_'"I know this address pretty well from the beat. Belongs to a Desiree Wilson, but it's her daughter Marguerite we know down at the station. Pretty Black bitch, locked up a couple of times for possession, prostitution, and public disturbance, she usually gets out after she does some favors for the officers who bring her in." Pendlebury laughed maliciously and studied Ryder's features. "You kinda look like her. You her kid or somethin'?"_

_'"Shit, no wonder the kid's got skills! He learned from his moms!" Broflovski laughed hysterically inside the car. Ryder tried to break free of Pendlebury's grip and attack the older cop, but the blond kept him in place. _

_'"Yeah kid, you must be Margie's bastard. So unless you want us making house calls to visit your mom instead of you, you'll do what we tell you. Otherwise, our conduct can become very unprofessional." Pendlebury gently slapped Ryder and climbed back into the car. Ryder watched resentfully as the cops backed out his driveway then ran into the bushes and vomited the contents of his stomach, bent double in physical, emotional, and mental agony.'_

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**Author's Note: "Interracial Sandwich Cookies" is a reference to Oreos; "Toaster Sugar Bombs" is a reference to Pop-Tarts. **

**If you've been reading and following this story, Ryder's life is about to get worse in the next chapter. I'm building the plot until the first time he gets high off PCP, so a lot of violent, gruesome things happen in his life. Thank you for reading. Please review and follow.**


	4. Chapter 4: Stolen

**Author's Note: Thanks to Doomseas and jim79 for following this story, and thanks to jim79 and Irish Maiden16 for reviews. I'm sorry for the long delay in the newest update but I had really been struggling for the next step to take in this story. **

**Warning: This chapter contains strong language and drug references. If you can't stomach it, don't read it.**

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**Chapter 4: Stolen**

**1984**

"Ryder, hurry the fuck up! Cops could be comin' any second!" LB hissed in panic.

"Shit, I'm tryin' but this shit is heavy!"

"Yeah, that's why we gonna make some serious cash off it! Now come on!"

Ryder's slim body quaked under the weight of the big screen TV in his arms. The temperature in Los Santos had topped 85 degrees. Ryder had stripped off his green Eris tee to ease his burden in the baking summer sun, but Ryder still sweat profusely as he tiptoed down the stairs of the mansion. _'Who the fuck even watches a TV this big?'_

"Nigga, shut up or we gonna get caught for real!" When his left sneaker made contact with the polished floor of the foyer, Ryder sighed in relief. LB waited at the front door a few feet away. Because Ryder was the smaller of the two teens, it was his duty to steal the swag. He was hardly strong but at least he reached the front door with hardly any more effort.

Ryder shoved the TV in the back of a black Boxville. LB offered him some dap. At 6'1", LB easily towered over Ryder. At nineteen, he was almost part of a different generation than Ryder. It was said by some people that LB's father had died in the Vietnam War and that his mother was a heroin addict. Other claimed his mother was a local tramp who tried to trap a promising basketball star with a baby. Whatever the truth, Ryder admired the industrious teenager.

"Come on, nigga, let's head out before somebody catches us." LB shut and locked the front door of the house. When the door was secure, LB sprinted to the driver's side and started up the truck. Ryder hopped in the passenger's seat of the van.

LB steered the van cautiously down the steep hills of Richman. "So this is how you stay fed, homie?" Ryder asked.

"Yeah, it's how I make my dough." LB's slim jaw clenched, but the glare in his eyes was devoid of tangible emotion. "Don't front like you don't know how it is, homie. Niggas like us gotta take care of our own asses."

"Chea, I been slangin' since I was ten or eleven." Ryder slouched in his seat, the better to impress LB with his casual demeanor about his profession.

"You, li'l nigga? I've seen toothpicks bigger than your ass."

"As long as I got my gat, who cares? My bullets ain't no fuckin' toothpicks."

LB laughed. Ryder wasn't sure if the laugh was with or against him. The older teen focused on steering the van onto the Los Santos Freeway. "So I heard you rep Grove Street now? Flyin' colors and shit, taggin' up turf and shit."

"What? I been Grove Street since I was born, nigga."

"Yeah, but I heard you went through official initiation."

"Nigga,I don't need no fuckin' initiation."

"Whatever li'l nigga." LB took the exit ramp into Idlewood and remained pensive until they reached the train tracks separating Ganton from Idlewood. "Ay, you wanna chill over at Big Smoke's place when we drop this shit off?"

"Chea, that's cool. That nigga got any food?"

"That fat asshole? Probably not!" Both young men laughed.

In the eight months following his suspension from the Johnson household, Ryder's life felt like he was stuck in a toilet. He just wasn't flushed, and Ryder was never sure if it was a good or bad thing. Hanging out with LB was the best feeling he had felt during that entire time.

Ryder was selling drugs big time for B-Dup, who had also joined with Grove Street. B-Dup claimed it was from his loyalty to the neighborhood, but no one who knew the enterprising dealer believed his fabrication. B-Dup wanted new customers, and he could get them from inside the gang. Part of Ryder felt repulsed by selling drugs to his homies. With each dollar he took from their hands, he buried it in the same place he buried his guilt for working to turn other people into dopefiends like his mother.

At LB's lockup in Seville, the two young men exited the vehicle to turn over the truck and its contents to the owner of the storage facility. The gray-haired, robust Black man smiled congenially at them and shook both of their hands. '_He slipped LB the key when they shook_,' Ryder observed. _'Guess he don't trust me just yet.'_

"It's a pleasure doing business with two fine young men such as yourselves," the lockup owner said, still smiling. "What did you boys get?"

LB did a quick count on his left hand. Ryder noticed that it was crisscrossed with jagged white scars in addition to the normal lines that rendered a man's hand. "We got: a TV, VCR, microwave, radio, blender, another TV, stereo system, radio, another TV, another VCR, and another radio….Ten things in all, sir."

The elderly man counted out $2000 in crisp one hundred dollar bills and stuffed it into the older teen's hand. "You two young men have a good, safe day."

"You too," LB said dismissively. The old man locked up the storage facility, climbed into a battered, yellow Greenwood parked on the curb, and drove away.

LB scanned the street around them. No one was watching them, and traffic was moving at a normal pace. Still, the older boy pulled Ryder to the side of the storage facility, where a basketball court waited for a game to bring it to life. In their basketball shorts and tee-shirts, they looked like two teenagers waiting for their teams. LB counted out $1000 and handed it to Ryder. "There you go, homie. Fifty percent of the cut is yours."

While Ryder stuffed the money into the pocket of his shorts, LB strolled to a yellow BMX leaning on the side of the storage facility. The bike had multiple dents and scratches along the frame, but it still shone in the mid-afternoon sun. "Where's mine at?" Ryder asked.

"Probably over on Grove Street where you left it!" LB laughed at Ryder but did not pedal off. "Come on li'l nigga, hop on the handlebars."

To Ryder's dismay, his slim body was still small enough to fit comfortably on the narrow metal bar between LB's smooth brown hands. LB seemed unconcerned with the absence of helmets, as he pedaled at top speed toward Grove Street. They passed the 8-Track stadium fronting the beach and Ryder caught a whiff of the salty air wafting from the shoreline. In his control, the bike slid smoothly between the cars on the road and among the gangstas clad in green on the sidewalks.

LB arrived on the cul-de-sac via the alley between Ryder's and CJ's houses. Both boys gaped at the sight of flashing blue-and-red lights on their street, and LB almost immediately threw on the brake with a backward pedal. "Shit, they got five-oh outside my house already!" Ryder hissed.

"We gotta bail!"

"Where we gonna go, the sewers?" Ryder's heart had never pounded in his chest like it did when he saw the cops' lights.

LB steadily backed the bike out of the alley. Ryder clung to the handlebars for his life. When they were safely behind the Johnson house, both boys got off the bike. "Nah, we don't have to go to the sewers. What about Sweet or Smoke's house?"

Ryder kept his eyes sharp for any movement, any sound indicating the approaching cops. "We should be alright at Smoke's house, as long as we go in back."

LB walked the bike to a second alley, one that diverged into two paths. One led to the yards behind Sweet's and Big Smoke's houses, and the other led into the Los Santos sewers. Big Smoke's gray house was nestled between Sweet Johnson's newly acquired whitewashed bachelor pad and the Johnson homestead.

For a brief moment, Ryder felt a pang of longing for Beverly Johnson's home-cooked meals and the sanctuary he would have found behind her front door. Then LB marched up to Smoke's living room window and pounded on it with his smooth right fist, glancing back every so often to make sure that even in the bushes, the cops were not approaching. "Big Smoke! Ay, Big Smoke!"

The obese gangsta opened the window and glared at the two teens. "What you niggas want?"

"Yo, can we come chill inside for a minute?" LB hissed.

"What the fuck? Why you niggas whisperin'?"

"Man, just let us in the house, please!"

_'We should've just gone to the sewers and hid out there,'_ Ryder thought. Big Smoke closed the window and a few seconds later, the front door opened. Dressed in his black derby to conceal his balding head, an immense blue dress shirt, and gray Binco pants, Big Smoke filled the entire doorway with his bloated girth. LB surveyed the street once more and darted into the space Big Smoke allotted between his body and the doorway. Ryder looked around and followed.

"Hey, hey, if it ain't my homies LB and Ryder! What's crackin' niggas?"

Big Smoke exchanged dap with both boys. The air was thick with heat and the cloying scent of marijuana. Sunlight was rejected by the thick brown curtains covering the windows. A brown leather recliner, two matching dingy plaid sofas, and a TV livened up the living room. In the background, a radio played Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough." Smoke squinted at Ryder. "You're Marguerite's kid, right?"

"Yeah." _'This fat fuck's been smoking so much, he don't even remember shit.'_

"Damn li'l nigga, I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?"

Big Smoke jerked his head in the direction of the flashing blue-and-red lights down the street. Yellow police tape demarcated the boundaries of Ryder's front yard. Two tall, slim White police officers stood on the grass while they wrote notes on their legal pads. An ambulance backed out the driveway and flared its siren once before cruising to the hospital.

Ice cold fear stabbed Ryder's slim chest. "Beverly Johnson went over there 'bout an hour ago, to take you and your mom some food. Found your mom and ran out, screamin' for Jesus." Big Smoke rested a heavy hand on Ryder's bare shoulder, but the small teen jerked away.

_'Nah, there ain't no way. He ain't about to say what I think he gonna say. Moms could've been doing anything to make Miss Beverly run outta there. Probably got caught shooting up again, that's all.' _

"Your mom is dead, li'l nigga. I'm sorry."


	5. Chapter 5: Thief

**Author's Note: I didn't provide any clarity for this story before I started it, but this story is just the conceptual biography of Lance "Ryder" Wilson in the years leading to his full-blown PCP addiction. I'm not writing Ryder as a homosexual, and this story is not a smut fest. It's actually a compilation of experiences that friends of mine underwent before they became drug addicts, and I believed it was possible for Ryder to go through as well. Untamed Fowl is my parody of Wild Turkey; Zipped Up is my parody of Ziploc. **

**Warning: This chapter contains consensual drug use, non-consensual drug use, descriptions of a pornographic film, dub-con slash, and sexual acts performed on someone who may be a minor.**

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"You sure you ready for it, Ryder?" Big Smoke asked.

"Man, shut up and just give it to me! I'm grown!"

"Nigga, you just turned sixteen. You can't handle this, trust me," LB bragged.

"I can take it."

Big Smoke chuckled. "Alright, li'l nigga, but it's fat one."

"Stop talking about my height, and just gimme the shit."

Big Smoke took one more taunting pull off the blunt then passed it to Ryder, who sat on his left. The small Black teen barely touched the cigar to his full lips before he frowned. Big Smoke started to laugh harder. "Told you, you ain't ready for that good shit li'l nigga."

_'I ain't no li'l nigga. I'm seventeen and I'm on my own now.'_ Ryder, against his better judgment, inhaled until the cloud of weed smoke saturated his lungs. It burned in his slender chest and forced the Black teen to cough painfully.

LB slapped Ryder on his naked back while Big Smoke chuckled and puffed his own blunt. "Told you the li'l nigga couldn't take it yet. He's still a virgin and Mary's for grown niggas."

"You alright, man?" LB asked.

Ryder coughed out the last of the weed smoke. _'Man this shit really burns. Am I fuckin' dying?'_ His head already felt fuzzy and his mouth suddenly thirsty. "Man, gimme some damn water!"

Big Smoke reached for a brown liquor bottled beside his brown leather recliner. "Here, let the li'l nigga sip on this."

LB frowned at the bottle but passed it any way to the coughing Ryder. He took a blunt from Big Smoke's other outstretched hand, while Ryder uncapped the liquor bottle and took a mighty gulp. The acrid burn of Untamed Fowl in his already seared throat made Ryder hack and cough anew. "Shit, what the fuck did you just give me?"

"A real man's drink," Big Smoke replied. LB casually lit his cigar, and Big Smoke settled back in his recliner to finish off his blunt with an inhale that prostitutes would have envied. "It's time you grow up, li'l nigga. You're on your own now. You ain't got your mama there to baby you no more."

Ryder glanced at LB. The older teen either nodded in agreement or bobbed his head in tune to the beat of Zapp & Roger's "More Bounce to the Ounce." The sensory overload of marijuana and liquor made Ryder's tongue thicken and his thoughts were slower to come forth. "I am grown," he drawled. "I been takin' care of myself for years, nigga!"

Big Smoke laughed and picked up another bottle of Untamed Fowl. "Li'l nigga, you ain't but fifteen years old. You ain't close to bein' grown."

"I'm sixteen, motherfucker." Despite the garbled way his words came out, Ryder knew his face had grown hot and his blood was boiling in anger.

"Whatever, li'l nigga, you look about twelve." Big Smoke wet his mouth with another swallow of whiskey, took out fresh dime bags of weed and a plastic Zipped Up bag of rolling papers, and went to work with his moist tongue. In the time it took Ryder to formulate and convey another statement, Big Smoke had rolled three more blunts and was working on the fourth.

"Quit talkin' about my height before I start on your beached whale lookin' ass."

LB smirked and finished off his blunt. "If you so grown," Big Smoke offered a whole blunt to Ryder, "try to take all that without complaining."

Ryder lit the fresh cigar, inhaled, and held the smoke in his chest. It went down more smoothly than the first puff. "Yeah, that's it," Big Smoke coached. "Now go ahead and breathe it out, real slowly." He followed Big Smoke's instructions and was rewarded with grins from both Big Smoke and LB. "Yeah, chase that up with some whiskey." Big Smoke pushed the Untamed Fowl bottle from which Ryder had drank closer to the teen.

"Aye, you ever seen a naked bitch before?"

Ryder had seen his mother naked a few times. Once, Marguerite shot up some heroin, stumbled from her bedroom with her raggedy pink houserobe loose, and had collapsed on the living room floor to sleep off the effects of the drug. Ryder was only seven at the time. Then, when he was ten, Ryder had caught Marguerite on all fours on her bed with her drug dealer passionately plowing her. That was on Christmas morning. "Yeah, I seen my moms naked," Ryder recalled.

"This nigga ain't even had pussy before," LB chuckled. "Nigga, seeing your moms naked don't count."

Ryder finished his second blunt and followed it with another gulp of Untamed. LB's laughter and Big Smoke's jokes lost their sting under the influence of the marijuana and the alcohol. He didn't feel the tightness in his chest that he had since Big Smoke had told him why the ambulance was on Grove Street. There wasn't any shame from the memory of seeing his mother naked and sprawled on the living room floor with the needle in her arm. Everything in his life was overpowered by the nonchalance of the intoxicants taking control of him.

He wanted—No, he _needed_ more.

"Too bad I ain't got a naked bitch in the bedroom right now. Guess a porno is the closest thing I got for this li'l virgin nigga." Big Smoke crossed the room to the cabinet beneath his 24" screen TV and opened it.

"Aye, Smoke, what time is it?" LB asked.

The porcine man glanced at his Zip Blue watch. "I got eight twenty, homie."

"Cool." Suddenly sober, LB polished off his second blunt. " I got this bitch over in the projects, said she was gonna stay home from school to let me pop that cherry. I'm out homie."

Ryder took a deep puff and watched LB leave. The weed was slowing down his motor skills to the point that he didn't even wave goodbye to LB until the older boy was out the door. Big Smoke shook him.

"Aye li'l nigga, take another hit of this weed and sip some of that drink." Ryder obediently lit another blunt and inhaled its thick, tangy smoke then followed it with another deep gulp of Untamed Fowl. "Yeah, now look at that bad bitch on the screen. That bitch know she bad, don't she?"

Ryder followed the path of Big Smoke's gaze. A blonde White woman with her hair pinned up knelt before a tall, muscular Black man wearing nothing but his Afro. The camera zoomed upon her crimson lips fellating the man and amplified the sounds of his satiated moans. Ryder didn't feel his member harden because he was so far gone under the effects of the weed.

Big Smoke passed the teen another blunt. Ryder lit and inhaled almost mechanically. "You like that, huh, li'l nigga? That white bitch looks good, huh? On her knees like that, sucking all that black dick. Sure looks good, right?"

"Yeah," Ryder groaned. Big Smoke hovered next to him and handed him another spliff. "No thanks, Smoke. I kinda feel funny anyway." Ryder could barely feel his skinny arms. His eyelids were heavy, and it seemed like everything around him moved in slow motion. "I think I need to go home."

Ryder thought he had stood up, but when he blinked, he was in the same seat. Something moved across his bared chest. Ryder hesitantly looked down. Big Smoke's fat brown hand glided across his chest and tweaked his nipples. _'What the hell?' _ Ryder thought. _'Is this shit real?'_ He tried to open his lips and express his confusion, but the words trapped in his dry throat.

He blinked again. Ryder could see the brown edge of a water stain in Big Smoke's ceiling. _'Why's the ceiling up there?_ _Shit, did I fall asleep?'_ Something was squeezing his thighs and moving up his legs. Ryder lifted his head and spotted Big Smoke kneeling on the sofa between Ryder's gaped knees. The teen's jeans were unfastened, and Big Smoke's fat hand was stroking his hard-on. "Wh-what you doin', Smoke?"

"Chill, homie. I'm giving you something to make you feel good."

_'This shit don't feel good. Feels just like those fuckin' cops.'_ Ryder wiggled away from Big Smoke's grapsing hands. "Nah, Smoke, I don't want…"

Before the teen could rise from his prone state, Big Smoke's firm fat hand closed over the teen's mouth. Ryder struck the fat man with his fists, but his attacks were clumsy under the power of the weed and alcohol. Big Smoke knocked away the teen's hands with ease. "Quit strugglin', li'l nigga. I'm just tryin' to make you feel good."

"I don't want…."

"Don't make me hurt you li'l nigga." In the moment that Ryder's body stiffened from fear, Big Smoke pressed something cold, hard, and moist against his lips. Cold liquor flowed into Ryder's mouth. The teen writhed desperately seeking to purchase air. "Tastes good, don't it?"

"Man, get the fuck off me." Ryder tried feebly to push the heavier, older man away. His head swam in the ocean of Untamed Fowl, and what little strength he had was enfeebled by the exorbitant amount of marijuana he had inhaled for his first time. Big Smoke placed his left hand on the teen's scrawny chest and easily pinned Ryder in place.

"Chill, li'l nigga. I bet you do this shit all the time." Big Smoke's right fist closed around the bulge of Ryder's teenaged manhood in his jeans. "Damn, you got a big dick for a li'l nigga."

"Get off me."

"We havin' a good time, nigga. Weed got me feelin' good, too." Big Smoke began to stroke the erection through its denim fabric. Ryder lost a battle against a keen yearning in his body for the touch. "Just close your eyes and pretend it's that White bitch strokin' you. This is somethin' real niggas do all the time."

_'Somethin' niggas do all the time. Shit, I ain't gay. I ain't gay. Smoke ain't gay either. This shit probably ain't even really happenin'." _Ryder blinked and the fat man became the blonde in the porno sitting between his gaping knees. She was completely naked, nipples pointing like perky pink candies atop her pasty breasts with tan lines of a bikini top. The blonde smiled appreciatively at Ryder's length in her hand and gaped her smooth thighs to afford the teen an eyeful of her shaven, glistening womanhood. With her free hand, the blonde inserted her index finger into her mouth and seductively stroked between the juicy lips. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips pouted from ecstasy.

Ryder's body betrayed him at that moment. In a shuddering moan, Ryder climaxed and spilled his seed all over the blonde's hand. Then he lapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

When Ryder recovered, the sun beat down brutally upon him. The sounds of street traffic echoed all around him, and his head ached. Ryder's mouth felt unbelievably dry and his throat ached as wll. As the teen groaned and struggled to sit upright on the hot concrete on which he lay, the skin on his back cried out against the sizzling ground.

Ryder rolled onto his forearms and pushed himself to his feet with some difficulty. _'Man, what the fuck happened to me last night?' _the afro-sporting teen wondered. _'Me and LB was chillin' and he said he wanted to rob some shit. Then we went and…'_ Ryder groaned against a sudden spike of his headache. When he clasped his hand to his forehead, the teen realized his face felt sticky. So did his jean shorts and boxers. _'I must've been fucked up on somethin'. Didn't I smoke some weed?'_

He surveyed his surroundings. Concrete walls rose from the sand-strewn ground around Ryder. _'Shit, how'd I end up in the sewers?'_ The teen gathered his bearings, based on landmarks and gang tags, until he found one of the navigable exits from the sewer to the streets above. _'Last thing I remember was comin' over to Big Smoke's house. So why's my face all sticky an' shit?'_

Ryder emerged from the sewer on the Grove Street cul-de-sac. From the heat of the sun beating him, the bare-chested teen guessed that it was almost noon. Nobody was anywhere to be found on the street. _'Ain't this some shit. Might as well head on home, wait for B-Dup to come through with some new dope for me to push.'_

"Li'l nigga, where you been at?"

Ryder turned and spotted Big Smoke on the front porch of his house. The obese gangsta wore a charcoal colored suit that looked as though it had seen too much usage. "What up, Smoke?"

"What's up with all that shit on your face? And why you strollin' the block, bein' disrespectful in light of your moms' passing?"

"What the fuck you talkin' about?"

"Come inside and see for yourself."

Ryder followed Big Smoke into his house and went directly to the bathroom beside the front door. The fat man stood in the doorway and observed Ryder's reaction to the dry crusty white and yellow-green spatters on the teen's lips, nose, and chest. "What the fuck?"

"You musta thrown up on yourself. Told you, you couldn't handle your liquor worth a shit!"

Ryder rinsed his face under cold water and dried it on the back of his right arm. "What the fuck happened?"

"You don't remember shit from last night, do you?"

"Hell nah." Ryder glanced cautiously at Big Smoke. "You said my moms is dead?"

"Yeah, I told you and LB last night." The fat gangsta's face dropped with genuine grief. "When you niggas came over last night, the ambulance was still there."

Ryder's legs went out from under him and he half-fell, half-sat on the cold, cracked tiles of the bathroom. _'Don't you dare cry.'_ "How'd she die?"

"Beverly's been telling the whole block she had a needle in her arm. She's the one who found Marguerite." _'Don't you dare cry.'_ Big Smoke rested his fat right hand on the slender teen's narrow shoulders. "If you need anything, I'm always here. I always got you."

Ryder pushed to his feet, squeezed by Big Smoke, and walked out the front door. Grove Street was still eerily quiet, even though a few kids were pedaling their bikes up the street. _'What the hell am I gonna do? If Moms had stopped shootin' up that shit, she'd be straight now. Damn my life is always fucked up.'_


End file.
